Tennis Year Two

 

 

Devin is playing tennis again this year for his middle school.  Here he is in action, serving up some tasty defeat for the opposing team.

 

 

 

 

 

“Yes!”

Alien Blood in the Bathroom and the Agony of Defeet

 

 

Out damn’d spot, out I say. 

 

Last night, around two-thirtyish I heard the shuffled footsteps of one of the kids.  Too comfy to sit up, I took an auditory guess based off of our cheap poly-nylon carpet. “What’s wrong, D.J.?”

 

“I feel sick. I think I’m going to throw up.”  The statement every mother loves to hear.

 

Why is it that they come to you first and not the bathroom?  I flew out of bed and practically carried him by the shoulders to the potty under the stairs, hoping that he would at least hold it in until we hit the hardwood.  We made it.

 

D.J. did his business while I fetched the dreaded barf bowl. “Go lay down on the couch.”  The last thing I want to do is clean up goo hurled off the top of his bunk.

 

So he’s shuffling his way in the dark, forgetting as always to turn the light off so I did it for him.  That’s when I saw it.  Glowing green alien blood on the floor.  It would not come up however hard I scrubbed with a crumpled wad of t.p.  Water just turned the stuff to mush of course and yet it the drops gleamed a little brighter.  Oh well.  I give up.  It’s 2:43 and the lingering stench won’t help me drift back out to placid dreams.  I’ll try to think of it as a runway to the commode; heaven knows anything to help the boys land on target can’t be all that bad, out of this world of not.

 

So I’m in my P.J.’s, on the floor of the bathroom playing Lady McBeth in the dark and I hear D.J. coil back in pain, his silhouette looks remarkably like one of those giant pretzels you see at the mall.  “What happened?”

 

“I stepped on the ship.”  It was a tad whiny, but given the recent spiffing and the earlier hour, I’ll let it pass without parental lecture #25,351 about putting your toys away.  Oddly enough, Miss Is suffered a similar fate earlier that night when an army of Legos, highly trained in guerilla warfare, ambushed her in the great room.  “I’m your mother, not your maid.  I’m your mother, not your maid.  I’m your mother….”  I know the only one I’m brainwashing here is myself, but at this point I really don’t care.

 

Yes, I’ve been away.  No green-bleeding alien abductions to planet Zortog nor great and heroic battles fought and lost in the name of all that is good and right in the world.  Just life.   Just busy.  Just making more excuses.  Maybe I’ll get my act together, then again maybe I won’t.  lol